


That Empty House

by The_Uninspired



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Reunions, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2015-09-18
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:27:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Uninspired/pseuds/The_Uninspired
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As soon as the Woodsman blew the lantern out, the wind came to life around him. The Beast was screaming, but it was as if it screamed from a long distance away. He could hear little over the whipping of air around him. He did not know what would come next. He was not sure that it mattered anymore. It was only a matter of time, he said to himself. Only a matter of time…</p>
<p>And then he awoke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Empty House

As soon as he blew the lantern out, the wind came to life around him. The Beast was screaming, but it was as if it screamed from a long distance away. The Woodsman could hear little over the whipping of air around him. He did not know what would come next. He was not sure that it mattered anymore. He’d spent so many years slaving away in these dark woods for his daughter. For what he _thought_ was his daughter. He’d destroyed so many souls, led so many lost women and children to their dooms in this horrible forest. Tears fell down his face unhindered. He closed his eyes, though it made little difference in the darkness. The Beast was getting further away, and his body was growing numb. It was only a matter of time, he said to himself. Only a matter of time…

And then he awoke.

The ground was cold and wet with snow, and the night was quiet. The Woodsman drew himself up slowly, gazing warily around.

How had he survived? Surely the Beast would have destroyed him for such treachery. And if not him, the woods itself devoured the souls of the lost, and he was nothing but a lost soul now. Where would he go? Without… without _her_ , nowhere in the world could be a home to him. He may as well become another edelwood.

And yet, he stood among the tall, white trees, and his mind felt clearer than it had in years. The air was crisp, and the stars above were bright pinpricks piercing the heavens. He had never seen a place quite like this in the Unknown, but he’d seen it many times before. He’d spent so many days in these woods, teaching her how to hunt, how to pick herbs, how to navigate by the stars… These were _his_ woods. These were the woods behind their house.

His boots carried him onward where his spirit could not, and he soon found himself at the edge of the woods, ax in hand, afraid to venture any further. In the distance there was a cottage, which looked many years older than he remembered it. _Their_ cottage.

_WOODSMAN, ARE YOU REALLY READY TO GO BACK TO THAT EMPTY HOUSE?_

His hands shook. The tears had never stopped running down his face. All these years, and he was still a coward, ever a coward. Even now, he could barely think of her, curled in the snow, pale in the moonlight-

He took the first step cautiously, then the next. He wanted nothing more than to escape this place, to leave forever this horrible world without his daughter in it, but where would he go? Even in death, there was no freedom. He knew with certainty, although he knew not how, that he would only end up _there_ again. Cursed forever to walk the woods alone, in every plane, eternally punished for his ultimate failure as a father. He had let her life flicker out all those years ago, and for all his desperation and denial, he had been able to do nothing. And over the years he’d accumulated so many more sins, whether he’d known it at the time or not. So many poor, lost children. How many other daughters had he helped the Beast to snuff out? How many more fathers were there in this bleak world, being punished not only for their own sins, but his?

Momentum alone carried him from the pathway to the porch. The stair boards groaned beneath the weight of his feet. The wood had begun to rot in his absence, but it still had the strength to lift him up to the front door, where he stood a statue.

_Beast, you were right,_ he realized. _I_ _’m not ready to go back to this empty house._

Carefully he knelt down and lay his ax against the wall by the door. Then he rose, every muscle sore and every bone aching, and went to his chair. He had spent many afternoons and evenings in this chair, watching the birds, or the rain, or watching… but as he sat down now, it felt as unfamiliar as everything else did. This old life no longer belonged to him, and he no longer belonged in this world. Perhaps the Beast had been right all along. Perhaps he should have- _but no_. He knew now how monstrous the Beast truly was, and he would never have been able to go on helping the Beast, not in the knowledge that his… that his daughter… that _she_ would never return. That she had never remained with him in the first place. That she had… had _died_ so many years ago, and he could do nothing to save her. Everything he’d done, he’d done for her. If there was no hope of her return… What was there?

The Woodsman waited on the porch for many hours, staring out into the white woods. Sometimes he thought he saw large black shadows flitting between the trees, but they were only figments, tricks his mind was playing on itself, for he knew he had finally returned to the waking world, and there were no dreams here.

When he first heard noises coming from inside the cottage, he thought little of it, given the hollow comfort of his faith in that truth. His mind had warped over the long and lonely years, and he had grown terribly afraid. It felt as if moths and maggots had crawled in through his ears and mouth, and had chewed holes in his very brain. He had forgotten many things over the years, and imagined many more. What was one noise, when he still saw the Beast behind every tree in the woods? No, he was simply losing his nerves.

But then the noises came again. Scrabbling, scraping. He entertained the thought of squirrels or wolves having taken up residence in his absence. _They can have it_ , he thought. It had not been his home in many years.

He was resting his eyes, when the squeaking sound began. He opened them and glanced over toward the door. The handle was shifting. He wondered if he should prepare himself, if he should grab his ax, but he was transfixed. He thought of _her_ , shimmying the door open every evening, coming to ask him for dinner. He thought of her, _and there she was_.

The door swung in and a young woman emerged. Her skin was smooth and rosy, her long hair was like silken thread, and her bright eyes were wide and filled with tears.

“Papa?” She asked. Her voice, as familiar to the Woodsman as the Beast’s, more familiar to him than his own, was shaking. He felt fear like he had not in a long time as he gazed upon her. _A dream, surely_ , he thought desperately, _An illusion, a-a trick, a hopeless fantasy_ \- And yet, just as he’d known these woods to be real, deep in his very soul, he looked upon her and _knew_.

She was so much older than he remembered her. Had he truly been gone so long? How old had she been, that awful night? He found he could not remember. It was a chasm in his mind. But he knew, he _knew_ , _he knew it was her_. His _daughter_. His wonderful daughter. His beautiful girl, his blossom, his air, the sun above the trees, the water in the streams, the song on the wind. Every thought he had never dared think, every memory that had brought only pain, they all came upon him at once. He simply gazed upon her, and tears began to flow anew. He did not know how this was possible. He did not need to know.

“I’m so sorry.” He managed to say, the words sticky in his mouth as he continued to cry. “Honey, I’m so sorry.”

His daughter came closer, and he stood. She was so tall now, so much taller than she had been. She barely had to raise her eyes to match his when she reached him.

“ _I_ _’m so sorry_.” He said. It was all he could say.

He reached out his arms very slowly, his hands trembling, so worried she might break under his very touch.

A smile came upon his daughter’s beautiful face, dawning behind her own tears like the sun, and she reached her own arms out to embrace him. They too were trembling, but they held him tight as she buried her face in his shoulder. “Oh Papa,” She said. “Me too. _Me too_.”

**Author's Note:**

> I gained an Amateur Author Achievement for this one guys- I actually cried while writing something! I'm quite proud, in case you can't tell. Not necessarily of the fic. Just the fact that I'm a crybaby. Wait


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